Mercy Not Malice

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Print item

I was holding my mother's hand when she died. She shuddered one last breath, then exhaled and was still. The room was eerily silent. The heart monitor stopped chirping. I had waited alone by her hospital bed holding her hand, her fingers now cool and pale. I began to thank the Lord for her life. Tears flowed down my cheeks; sorrow mixed with joy. I knew where Mom was. Death was merciful as her body expired. I would see her again! When the nurse came in, I leaned on her shoulder and sobbed.


Subscribers must LOG-IN to read this full story.
Monthly and yearly online subscriptions are available starting at only $2.99. Access is free for print subscribers. Click here to see rates and register.

Registration is required to make comments. Click here to LOGIN.
You can register for FREE to post comments and receive alerts.